Young Writers Society

Hidden Truths

I staggered in, eyes looking around wildly, searching in vain for the reason why I was here. The room was dark and murky, [s]making[/s] my sensitive eyes barely able to see [s]and[/s] at all.I peered through the darkness, my eyes adjusting slowly, and stepped forward cautiously. In my hand I held a small candle but it did not [s]justice[/s] help, the wax melting away from the flame and [s]falling[/s] dripping hot, to cool on the stone floor. The light was not able to help guide [s]my way[/s] me into the cell but I did not dwell on that matter [s]from forth[/s] , as then I saw the shape against the wall, shackled and chained, watching me suspiciously [s]through[/s]with dark unforgiving eyes. I could not see anymore of his features, the shadows hiding them [s]but [/s] .I could only see the edge of a beard through the darkness, nothing more. I couldn’t help but feel pity for this man, or what was left of a man.

The smell was horrendous; putrefied excrement rotting in the basin near his feet, the smell of urine was evitable throughout the room, and the smell of perspiration just seemed to waft off the man. The guard behind me pushed me in, making me nearly fall forward onto the cold stone floor. This was where the prisoner was being kept and left to rot until his execution day, which sadly was today.

The man might have been happy, after being hid from the sunlight and world for weeks on end, but [s]the thought of[/s] contemplating one’s own death for so long must have been excruciating. Especially if you were born from high blood, and once were wealthy and close to the King. For this here man had showed signs of treason noticed by the King, and unfortunately was accused for adultery with the Queen. - I'm not sure about this sentence, maybe you could phrase it better to say he was accused of treason in commiting adultery with the queen?This here man, was George Boleyn.

“I am here.” I said to him, watching his head tilt up slightly. His chestnut brown curls which were once probably stunning, stirred away from his forehead. His eyes never [s]escaped[/s] left me, making me feel oddly nervous and sick to my stomach.

“And who are you to be here?” His voice was gruff and coarse as if he had not drunk water in the longest time. He moved towards me, his arm outstretched almost as if it was in friendly greeting, but it was not. He was just stretching [s]his arm[/s], the shackles jingling lightly. His clothes looked like they were once fine and expensive; beautiful floral embroidery was etched along [s]it’s[/s] his collar and it seemed evident that there was once lace on his sleeves, probably ripped off by a guard who would sell it [s]on[/s] at the market.

“My name is Father Amadeo Romanus. I am here to… forebear your sins.” I said lightly- I'm not sure if this is the right word to use here, maybe quietly? As otherwise it sounds like his tone is quite happy which seems a bit odd here , my own voice sounding unusual to myself. It seemed so incredibly depressing to be standing near a man condemned to die. Did he know [s]this[/s] the truth? Did he know his actual fate? Of course he did. I was being naïve. “[s]Will[/s] Would you like to confess?”

“I have nothing to confess good sir.” His voice pained me again. It was so cheerless, and [s]so[/s] weak. There was no life to it. Truly he had given up. There would not be a struggle when he would go forth and a sword would bite down upon his [s]head[/s] neck. “I am but a broken man, having been falsely accused, thrown in the holding keeps, and awaiting my death. There is nothing more than that.”

“Would you mind,” I began, “if I could see your face clearly, Sir Boleyn?”

“There is nothing to see but a washed out bloke, but if it is what you desire, there is nothing stopping you.” His chains jangled almost to [s]symbolize[/s] demonstrate this and he stepped backwards towards the wall [s]and[/s] . [s]h[/s]He leaned against it, [s]almost like it was[/s]as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world.

I strode forward, the candle before me so I could see his face. He cringed away from the light at first but then smiled resignedly. The corners of his eyes bunched up and I could see the marks of crows feet [s]embedding themselves[/s]embedded there. He had lived a happy life and the smile, no matter how heart-[s]retching[/s]wrenching it was, was nice to see. His eyes were watering [s]yet he seemed to be holding[/s] as he held back [s]the[/s] tears, his eyebrows furrowed [s]in which gave[/s] to give the impression of concentration. A once trimmed beard was now growing unchecked, his hair was raggedy[s],[/s] - it certainly hadn’t been combed in a long time. He was pleasant to look at, a brute of a man, and likely friendly before this chain of events.

Yet it was his eyes, those dark brown eyes that examined me [s]over with[/s] to absorb every detail, taking in the only presence of another he had seen in days. They [s]showed[/s] told a story, a story I myself wanted to learn. They [s]showed[/s] told of secrets, secrets that I myself wanted to hear. And finally they [s]showed[/s] told of a profound knowledge and regret. This man would have been a man of great, maybe even have changed the face of England, if he had not so foolishly given it away.

He didn't really give it away, maybe something about it being stolen? I'm also not sure about 'man of great' I think you could maybe rephrase it

“I am not who you think I am.” He breathed lightly, slumping down to the floor, knees cro[s]c[/s]oked and his arms settled beside him. “I am not a conspirator of the greatest sorts. I never decided to do such a thing as dethrone the King. I never decided to do such a thing as bed with my own sister.” His hissed these last words, shamelessly, unafraid.

“Then tell me who you are. Bear your sins on the altar of God and he will lift them off your shoulders and embrace you. You will not be alone in this time.”

“I have told you before. I am nothing but a coward, my sins have already been laid out before me, and unfortunately, they have brought my death. It seems apparent God wishes me else where.”

“But it also seems you have an untold story.” The words came out quick and unexpected.

“Aye, I have a story I would want the world to remember for what it truly is, not a made up tale brought together by the court to hide their true selves, gluttonous and greedy. The King has taken two wives. He destroyed the church to do so, even [s]barred[/s]banished his first wife [s]away[/s] so that he could love another. Yet he does not truly love and he is doing it again.” George looked furious, his fist clenched, yet he seemed helpless sitting there in shackles in the corner like a hopeless child. “I just sometimes wish that someone else would see the monster that he is, not the charades he puts up with his money. When that man dies, I hope he rots in hell for all I care.” -I think this should either be 'I hope he rots in hell' or 'he can rot in hell for all I care'.

“Oh goodness!” I gasped at the cruel shameless cursing.

“It is true! I say it openly!” He shrugged slightly, the smile once again appearing on his face, the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes [s]sprouting[/s]becoming more pronounced. He laughed lightly at my innocence. “You are definitely a priest, a mild one at that. Did you just come out of schooling?”

“Indeed sir. I passed all of my classes with high marks and approved declarations from the teachers. I --,” I stopped myself. What did it matter to this man about my good deeds[s].[/s]?

“Well I congratulate you on your success.” He finally looked away and examined the wall to the right. “Did you know I have counted all the stones on that wall, all 214 bricks of them[s].[/s]? I was once knowledgeable in the ways of reading and writing. The words of my father never left me. ‘It is better to be wise than a fool.’ And I hopefully haven’t fallen into the category of a fool even after being thrown in this dungeon of mine.”

It dawned on me then. He speaks words about the King in vain because he [s]was[/s]has been thrown in prison, but still he holds his father close. He cherished his family, and he [s]was[/s]is going to depart with them on this very day. He [s]had[/s] held no ill intentions to the King, yet he was close to his sisters. He was close enough to [s]make[/s]cause suspicion, leaving an opening for the King to get rid of his wife once and for all, and to take another and more vigorous [s]wife[/s]one. It seemed to make sense but it was probably all lies. I'd rephrase this sentence, perhaps instead you could say something about wanting to deny the truth or resisting confronting it?

But why would this man [s]make[/s] lie[s]s[/s] when he [s]was[/s]is going to die anyway[s]s[/s]? Wouldn’t it be better for him to admit the vulgar activities he conducted with his sister, breaking many laws in the church[s].[/s]? This man had truly never conducted treason or adultery with the queen for he…

“Have you ever loved another?” George smirked weakly. “It seems such a pity that you threw your chance at love away for it was the most miraculous ordeal that ha[s]d[/s]s ever happened to me. To hold them in my arms once more, I would truly give my life for, but what does that matter, I am giving my life up anyway[s]s[/s].”

“I-I-I… have indeed loved another.” His eyes lifted up to me inquisitively and in slight surprise. “It was a girl, young and beautiful. Jane Seymour was her name, but I too lost her to the King out of the many admirers. I think you could rephrase this, maybe something like 'as did many others' or something to show that he was not the only one who cared for her Nobody questions. We just watch as he takes her hand and kisses it gently, [s]floundering[/s]drowning her in marvellous expense. I went into priesthood before then. There was nothing I could do about it.” I finished[s],[/s] the story, painting words on the walls. I'm not sure about how you end, instead I'd maybe comment on how he appears perhaps gazing fixedly at the wall or something like that

“Aye, truly that King has broken many hearts and stabbed people in the back.” his eyes settled onto the floor examining it softly.

“You speak the truth, and I now understand you have spoken the truth all along.”

“Yes, that is right.”

My decision was made then. I crept towards him and placed the candle on the ground, the wax had already melted down to half-way. I went and grabbed the tin of faeces and excrement and held it an arms width away, [s]scrunching[/s]wrinkling my nose in distaste. His eyes never looked up at me, too weary to bother to ask what indeed I was doing.

I turned on my heel, my cloak billowing around me and [s]I[/s] strode confidently towards the door, slipp[s]ed[/s]ing it open slightly so there would be barely any sound and [s]I[/s] cre[s]pt[/s]eping out with th[s]is[/s]e large heavy tin clutched in my arms. The guard looked at me [s]lightly[/s] briefly and nodded, shifting his stare back down the hall-way. He probably thought I was a simple clean-up for the execution, but truly I would never stoop so low.

It happened before I even could control myself or think of a rational thought. I took the tin and whacked it on the back of the guards skull, hearing a satisfying crack. The man’s knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor in a[s]n inhumane position[/s] twisted heap. The man was dead. I had killed a man. I began to dwell on simple matters as I held the tin. What if this man had a wife and children? What life [s]had he had before him[/s]could he have had? There was nothing now. Absolutely nothing. He was dead, passed on and I had killed him. I felt dizzy and [s]I[/s] wished to lean [s]up[/s] against the wall but I had no time to spare.

I dropped the tin and pulled the guard into the room, a small trail of blood following.

George’s eyes widened in horror as he looked at the corpse that was brought before him. The corpse was already showing the first signs of death, the skin paling and the pupils dilating.

“What have you done?” George [s]said[/s]asked in nearly a yell.

“Shh.” I placed my finger over my lips, still trembling but trying to remain calm. “I am giving you your freedom, to go hold that love of yours in your arms once more.” The words came out softly, my voice wavering.

“But I-” George began, but I cut him off.

“You will take the clothes from the guard, you will change into them. You will leave unscathed. I will unshackle you with his keys. You will not have to die this day.” I smiled weakly. I was doing the right thing, wasn’t I? I was saving an innocent from being wrongly accused. I would never have done anything like this before, but now it seemed I must. I grabbed the keys and started to unlock [s]his[/s]the bonds that kept him [s]to[/s]in captivity.

“But it won’t work! They will come and find me not here. They will come after me with dogs and hunters. I will be found even before I escape through the gates!” George watched in bewilderment as the shackles [s]came off[/s]fell away from his wrists. There was a band of [s]cut up[/s]raw skin, bright red from the friction of wearing them for so long. Slight droplets of blood could be seen and I cringed.

“Not if they come down here and find someone in your place.” My heart [s]picked up the pace[/s]thumped harder in my chest. I had said the words before I could even think about what was happening, the actual meaning of [s]the words[/s]them.

“You can’t do this!” George object[s]ing[/s]ed. “What if I love someone who I am not supposed to love. What if my love is against the church!”

“But it is love no matter how unforgiving it may be.” I started to slip off my tunic then, and I threw it off onto the ground. “Get changed. The hour is coming closer and we don’t want to be caught in the act of doing this, now don’t we.”

He looked at me, pain evident in his eyes. He nodded his head lightly and complied.


* * * * * * *

I stepped onto the platform, the grubby clothes clinging to my skin. The smell coming off of me was putrid but I did not care [s]and[/s]. I stepped up to the scaffold and looked around at the crowd before me, booing and cat-calling me harshly. I was slightly amused. They had not suspected a thing. My beard was trimmed, my hair not even the shade of his, but still I stood here, the sunlight [s]be[/s]falling down on me and I raised my head to the sky to look at it, my hair falling down around my shoulders. I would return to you God, you would embrace me and welcome me back. You would whisper sweet nothings in my ear, running your fingers through my hair. For I was your disciple God. And I loved you.

I looked back down on the crowd and my eyes caught upon a person standing in the middle, dressed like the many guards around me, dark chestnut hair falling [s]faithfully in[/s]clumsily onto his face. His beard was untrimmed. He didn’t call out, he didn’t cheer. Instead I watched him mouth two words. Thank you. I'd maybe put this into italics

I looked at the rest of the people, hoping I would see one more face that would sympathize with this death. But there was none. I was acting the man who had been the Devil's Queen’s brother. He had been charged on acts of things that were not true and I could feel proud to be standing here in his place. I raised my arms [s]in[/s]to the sky and spoke.

“Trust in God and not the vanities in the world; for if I had done so I think I would not have found myself here before you condemned to die.” The words came out truthfully, and shamelessly. I looked back at George in the crowd and smiled at him, noticing the small tears that had edged themselves down onto his cheeks. He smiled back that lovely smile. And before I knew it, my head was forced down to the scaffold and I felt the bite of the sword on my neck.

Cheers, to all those who were wrongfully accused.

I staggered in, eyes looking around wildly, searching in vain for the reason [s]why[/s] I was here.

The room was dark and murky, making my sensitive eyes barely able to see and I peered through the darkness, my eyes adjusting slowly, and stepped forward cautiously.

In my hand I held a small candle but it did no justice[s],[/s]. The wax [s]melting[/s] melted away from the flame and [s]falling[/s] fell hot, to cool on the stone floor.

The light was not able to help guide my way into the cell but I did not dwell on that matter [s]from forth[/s] for I saw the shape against the wall[s],[/s] shackled and chained, watching me suspiciously through dark, unforgiving eyes.

I could not see anymore of his features[s],[/s] for the shadows were hiding them, but I could see the edge of a beard through the darkness. [s]nothing more.[/s]

The guard behind me pushed me in, making me nearly fall forward onto the cold stone floor.

This was where the prisoner was being kept and left to rot until his execution day, which sadly, was today

This here man[s],[/s] was George Boleyn.

“I am here[s].[/s],” I said to him, watching his head tilt up slightly.

“[s]Will[/s] Would you like to confess?”

His chains jangled almost to symbolize this and he stepped backwards towards the wall and [s]he[/s] leaned against it, almost like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

He cringed away from the light at first but, then smiled resignedly.

His eyes were watering yet he seemed to be holding back the tears, his eyebrows furrowed in which gave the impression of concentration.

This man would have been a man of [s]great[/s] greatness, maybe even have changed the face of England, if he had not so foolishly given it away.

“I have told you before. I am nothing but a coward, my sins have already been laid out before me, and unfortunately, they have brought my death. It seems apparent God wishes me else where.”

What did it matter to this man about my good deeds

.” He finally looked away and examined the wall to the right. “Did you know I counted all the stones on that wall, all 214 [s]bricks[/s] of them.

The room was dark and murky, making my sensitive eyes barely able to see

falling hot, to cool on the stone floor.

from forth I

watching me suspiciously through dark unforgiving eyes.

evitable throughout the room,

This here man, was George Boleyn.

“I am here.” I said to him,

along it’s collar

“There is nothing to see but a washed out bloke,

all 214 bricks of them.

But why would this man make lies when he was going to die anyways?

Wouldn’t it be better for him to admit the vulgar activities he conducted with his sister, breaking many laws in the church.

This man had truly never conducted treason or adultery with the queen for he…

I am giving my life up anyways.”

in the back.” his eyes settled onto the floor examining it softly.

to weary

that kept him to captivity.

“What if I love someone who I am not supposed to love.

Cheers, to all those who were wrongfully accused.

Incognito Temptation wrote:A/N: This here is for a contest conducted by lucyy. ;D I would love your reviews for this. And if you are confused, the concept for the contest is to change an aspect in a story or book with a character you made yourself. This is 'The Other Boleyn Girl', but I decided it would work out better in Historical section because it doesn't seem much like a Fanfiction. Hope you like it.

Hidden Truths

I staggered in, eyes looking around wildly, searching in vain for the reason why I was here. The room was dark and murky, making my sensitive eyes barely able to see [this sounds slightly awkward - try and rephrase it, maybe?] and I peered through the darkness, my eyes adjusting slowly, and [try not to use 'and' too much in one sentence - it can make your work sound repetitive, which we certainly don't want!! (: ] stepped forward cautiously. In my hand I held a small candle but it did no justice, the wax melting away from the flame and falling hot, to cool on the stone floor [I love this description]. The feeble light was not able to help guide my way into the cell but I did not dwell on that matter from forth I saw the shape against the wall, shackled and chained, watching me suspiciously through dark[comma] unforgiving eyes. I could not see any_more of his features, the shadows hiding them[comma] but I could see the edge of a beard through the darkness, [s]nothing more[/s]. I couldn’t help feel pity for this man, or what was left of a man. [Why?]

The smell [maybe build up to this a little, as it seems very sudden, going from the description of the man straight to the smell. Maybe have something like... I stepped closer to the suspicious man the hurrend[b]ous small of the small, dank prison cell hit me... But a lot better put =P ][/b] was horrendous; putrefied excrement rotting in the basin [brilliant!] near his feet, the smell of urine was evitable throughout the room, and the smell of perspiration just seemed to waft off the man. The guard behind me pushed me in, making me nearly fall forward onto the cold stone floor. This was where the prisoner was being kept and left to rot until his execution day, which sadly was today.

The man might have been happy, after being hid from the sunlight and world for weeks on end [why would he? Or is this just the opinion of your MC - that he would love to be hidden from the world? If so, try and make this clearer, and expand on it a little], but the thought of contemplating one’s own death for so long must have been excruciating. Especially if you were born from high blood, and once were wealthy and close to the King. For this here man had showed signs of treason noticed by the King,[delete comma] and unfortunately was accused for adultery with the Queen. This here man [you've already used this, too closely together - try and change one of them], was George Boleyn.

“I am here.[replace with comma]” I said to him [emotions running through his head, voice, if any?], watching his head tilt up slightly. His chestnut brown curls which were once probably stunning, stirred away from his forehead. His eyes never escaped me what stands out so much about his eyes?], making me feel oddly nervous and sick to my stomach.

“And who are you to be here?” His voice was gruff and coarse as if he had not drunk water in the longest time. He moved towards me, his arm outstretched almost as if it was in friendly greeting, but it was not. He was just stretching his arm, the shackles jingling lightly. His clothes looked like they were once fine and expensive; beautiful floral embroidery was etched along [s]it’s[/s] the collar and it seemed evident that there was once lace on his sleeves [how can your MC tell this?], probably ripped off by a guard who would sell it on the market.

“My name is Father Amadeo Romanus [what a name!! =P ]. I am here to… forebear your sins.[replace with comma]” I said lightly, [s]my own[/s] voice sounding unusual even to myself [how? Whys does it sound unusual - show instead of tell (: ]. It seemed so incredibly depressing to be standing near a man condemned to die. Did he know this truth? Did he know his actual fate? Of course he did. I was being naïve. “Will you like to confess?”

“I have nothing to confess good sir.” His voice pained me again. It was so cheerless, and so weak. There was no life to it.[replace with semi-colon] he had truly [s]he had [/s]given up. There would not be a struggle when he would go forth and a sword would bite down upon his head. “I am but a broken man, having been falsely accused, thrown in the holding keeps, and awaiting my death. There is nothing more than that.”

“Would you mind,” I began, “if I could see your face clearly, Sir Boleyn?” [What makes your MC say this? What are the thoughts/emotions going through his head that results in him wanting to see George Boleyn's face...? Elaborate (: ]

“There is nothing to see but a washed out bloke [this seems an unusual thing for George Boleyn - or any man in that era - to say 'bloke'. It somehow does not seem to fit], but if it is what you desire, there is nothing stopping you.” His chains jangled almost to symbolize this and he stepped backwards towards the wall and he leaned against it, almost like it was the most natural thing to do in the world.

I strode forward, the candle before me so I could see his face. He cringed away from the light at first but then smiled resignedly. The corners of his eyes bunched up and I could see the marks of crows feet embedding themselves there [I like the way you describe things, very nice (: ]. He had lived a happy life and the smile, no matter how heart-retching it was, was nice to see. His eyes were watering yet he seemed to be holding back the tears, his eyebrows furrowed in which gave the impression of concentration. A once trimmed beard was now growing unchecked, his hair was raggedy, it certainly hadn’t been combed in a long time. He was pleasant to look at, a brute of man, and was most likely friendly before these chain of events.

Yet it was his eyes, those dark brown eyes that examined me over with every detail, taking in the only presence of another he had seen in days. They showed a story, a story I myself wanted to learn. They showed secrets, secrets that I myself wanted to hear. And finally they showed a profound knowledge and regret. This man would have been a man of great, maybe even have changed the face of England, if he had not so foolishly given it away. [Ooh, I love this paragraph =D ]

“I am not who you think I am.” He breathed lightly, slumping down to the floor, knees crocked and his arms settled beside him. “I am not a conspirator of the greatest sorts. I never decided to do such a thing as dethrone the King. I never decided to do such a thing as bed with my own sister.” [s]His[/s] He hissed these last words, shamelessly, unafraid.

“Then tell me who you are. Bear your sins on the altar of God and he will lift them off your shoulders and embrace you. You will not be alone in this time.”

“I have told you before. I am nothing but a coward, my sins have already been laid out before me, and unfortunately, they have brought my death. It seems apparent God wishes me else[delete gap]where.”

“But it also seems you have an untold story.” The words came out quick and unexpected.

“Aye, I have a story I would want the world to remember for what it truly is, not a made up tale brought together by the court to hide their true selves, gluttonous and greedy. The King has taken two wives. He destroyed the church to do so, even barred his first wife away so that he could love another. Yet he does not truly love and he is doing it again.” George looked furious, his fists clenched, yet he seemed helpless sitting there in shackles in the corner like a hopeless child. “I just sometimes wish that someone else would see the monster that he is, not the charades he puts up with his money. When that man dies, I hope he rots in hell for all I care.”

“Oh goodness!” I gasped at the cruel shameless cursing.

“It is true! I say it openly!” He shrugged slightly, the smile once again appearing on his face, the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes sprouting. He laughed lightly at my innocence. “You are definitely a priest, a mild one at that. Did you just come out of schooling?”

“Indeed[comma] Sir. I passed all of my classes with high marks and approved declarations from the teachers. I -[deleted the second - and the comma]” I stopped myself. What did it matter to this man about my good deeds.[replace with question mark

“Well I congratulate you on your success.” He [s]finally[/s] looked away and examined the wall to the right. “Did you know I counted all the stones on that wall, all 214 bricks of them.[replace with question mark] I was once knowledgeable in the ways of reading and writing. The words of my father never left me.[replace with a colon] ‘It is better to be wise than a fool.’ And I hopefully haven’t fallen into the category of a fool even after being thrown in this dungeon of mine.”

It dawned on me then. He speaks words about the King in vain because he was thrown in prison, but still he holds his father close. He cherished family, and he was going to depart with them on this very day. He had held no ill intentions to the King, yet he was close to his sisters. He was close enough to make suspicion, leaving an opening for the King to get rid of his wife once and for all, and to take another and more vigorous wife. It seemed to make sense but it was probably all lies.

But why would this man make lies when he was going to die anyways? Wouldn’t it be better for him to admit the vulgar activities he conducted with his sister, breaking many laws in the church. This man had truly never conducted treason or adultery with the queen for he…

“Have you ever loved another?” George smirked weakly. “It seems such a pity that you threw your chance at love away for it was the most miraculous ordeal that had ever happened to me. To hold them in my arms once more, I would truly give my life for, but what does that matter,[replace with question mark] I am giving my life up anyway[s]s[/s].”

[Try and build up to this speech/story about your MC's love with a few inward thoughts from your MC, so we are prepared, as such, for what he is going to say. For example, I thought instantly of my only love, the golden shine of her hair in the sun and the soft tinkle of her laughter as I told her one of my many jokes..., or something like that anyway (: ] “I-I-I… have indeed loved another.” His eyes lifted up to me inquisitively and in slight surprise. “It was a girl, young and beautiful. Jane Seymour was her name, but I too lost her to the King out of the many admirers. Nobody questions. We just watch as he takes her hand and kisses it gently, floundering her in marvellous expense. I went into priesthood before then. There was nothing I could do about it.” I finished, the story, painting words on the walls. [Emotions?]

“Aye, truly that King has broken many hearts and stabbed people in the back.” His eyes settled onto the floor[comma] examining it softly.

“You speak the truth, and I understand you have spoken the truth all along.”

“Yes, that is right.”

My decision was made then. I crept towards him and placed the candle on the ground,[replace with semi-colon] the wax had already melted down to half-way. I went and grabbed the tin of feces and excrement and held it an arms width away, scrunching my nose in distaste. His eyes never looked up at me, too weary to bother to ask what indeed I was doing.

I turned on my heel, my cloak billowing around me and I strode confidently towards the door, slipped it open slightly so there would be barely any sound and I crept out with this large heavy tin clutched in my arms. The guard looked at me lightly and nodded, shifting his stare back down the hall-way[no need for the - in between hall and way, it is all one word]. He probably thought I was a simple clean-up for the execution but truly I would never stoop so low.

It happened before I even could control myself or think of a rational thought. I took the tin and whacked it on the back of the guard's skull, hearing a satisfying crack. The man’s knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor in an inhumane position. The man was dead. I had killed a man. I began to dwell on simple matters as I held the tin. What if this man had a wife and children? What life had he had before him? There was nothing now. Absolutely nothing. He was dead, passed on and I had killed him. I felt dizzy and I wished to lean up against the wall but I had no time to spare.

I dropped the tin and pulled the guard into the room, a small trail of blood following.

George’s eyes widened in horror as he looked at the corpse that was brought before him. The corpse was already showing the first signs of death, the skin paling and the pupils dilating.

“What have you done?” George said in nearly a yell.

“Shh.” I placed my finger over my lips, still trembling but trying to remain calm. “I am giving you your freedom, to go hold that love of yours in your arms once more.” The words came out softly, my voice wavering.

“But I-” George began, but I cut him off.

“You will take the clothes from the guard, you will change into them. You will leave unscathed. I will unshackle you with his keys. You will not have to die this day.” I smiled weakly. I was doing the right thing, wasn’t I? I was saving an innocent from being wrongly accused. I would never have done anything like this before, but now it seemed I must. I grabbed the keys and started to unlock his bonds that kept him to captivity.

“But it won’t work! They will come and find me not here. They will come after me with dogs and hunters. I will be found even before I escape through the gates!” George watched in bewilderment as the shackles came off his wrists. There was a band of cut-up skin, bright red from the friction of wearing them for so long. Slight droplets of blood could be seen and I cringed.

“Not if they come down here and find someone in your place.” My heart picked up the pace in my chest. I had said the words before I could even think about what was happening, the actual meaning of the words.

“You can’t do this!” George objecting. “What if I love someone who I am not supposed to love.[Replace with a question mark] What if my love is against the church!”

“But it is love no matter how unforgiving it may be.” I started to slip off my tunic then, and I threw it off onto the ground. “Get changed. The hour is coming closer and we don’t want to be caught in the act of doing this[s], now don’t we[/s].”

He looked at me, pain evident in his eyes. He nodded his head lightly and complied.


* * * * * * *

I stepped onto the platform, the grubby clothes clinging to my skin. The smell coming off of me was putrid but I did not care and I stepped up to the scaffold and looked around at the crowd before me, booing and cat-calling me harshly. I was slightly amused. They had not suspected a thing. My beard was trimmed, my hair not even the shade of his, but still I stood here, the sunlight befalling me and I raised my head to the sky to look at it, my hair falling down around my shoulders. I would return to you God, you would embrace me and welcome me back. You would whisper sweet nothings in my ear, running your fingers through my hair. For I was your disciple[comma] God. And I loved you.

I looked back down on the crowd and my eyes caught a person standing in the middle, dressed like the many guards around me, dark chestnut hair falling faithfully into his face. His beard was untrimmed. He didn’t call out, he didn’t cheer. Instead I watched him mouth two words. Thank you.

I looked at the rest of the people, hoping I would see one more face that would sympathize with this death. But there was none. I was acting the man who had been the Devil Queen’s brother. He had been charged on acts of things that were not true and I [s]could feel [/s] felt proud to be standing here in his place. I raised my arms into the sky and spoke.

“Trust in God and not the vanities in the world; for if I had done so I think I would not have found myself here before you condemned to die.” The words came out truthfully, and shamelessly. I looked back at George in the crowd and smiled at him, noticing the small tears that had edged themselves onto his cheeks. He smiled back that lovely smile. And before I knew it, my head was forced down to the scaffold and I felt the bite of the sword on my neck.

Cheers, to all those who were wrongfully accused. [I'm guessing this is a note from you, not your MC? =D]